City of Fae

The detectives knocked again. “Miss O’Connor? It’s in your best interest to let us in. It’s regarding the fae-at-large you were seen with yesterday evening.”


Fae-at-large? Damn it, Reign. What was I supposed to say to the police? What the hell had Reign meant when he said I didn’t understand what was happening? What exactly had he done? I steeled myself with a few deep breaths, repeated the mantra “I have nothing to worry about” in my head, and, plastering what I hoped to be an innocent smile on my face, I opened the door.





Chapter Three


The plainclothes detectives made themselves at home, accepting my offer of coffee as they settled on my two-seater couch like crows on a gate. Due to an unfortunate habit of appearing guilty, even if I hadn’t done anything wrong, I kept my back to them as I fixed their drinks, chewing on my lip. You believe you know what’s happening here. You don’t. This isn’t my story, Alina, it’s yours. Reign’s words rattled about my head.

“Do you know much about the fae, Miss O’Connor?” Detective Andrews asked in a syrupy voice, which neither peeked nor dropped. The type of voice designed for radio. A trust-me voice.

“A little. The usual.” A tingling skittered up my right arm, giving me another excuse to silently curse Reign.

“Been in London long?” Andrews’s partner, Detective Miles asked, his cockney accent spikey in comparison. He jerked his head, birdlike, and narrowed his beady eyes on me. Miles had to be twice as old as his partner, maybe late forties, and yet the much younger Andrews commanded the authority in the room. Perhaps it was how Andrews sat, as though hanging on my every word. He looked at me in that raw way cops do, reading everything, assuming nothing. His eyes held a steady intelligence, warning me not to test him.

“A year,” I replied.

Miles dipped his chin and rummaged inside his oversized coat, before plucking free a pen and notepad. “A year, huh … You’re American? Are there many fae in the US?” He didn’t look up, and didn’t seem to care much for the answer.

“Some.”

Andrews blinked, and for a few moments we held our gazes before he scratched at his chin and cleared his throat. “What do you do, Miss O’Connor, for employment?”

I told him, neglecting to mention my recent departure, and peeked over my shoulder while pouring hot water into their cups. Miles scribbled something on his pad in tight chicken-scratch marks. “Is there something I should know?” I asked. “You mentioned about this chat being in my interest?”

Andrews shifted forward and cleared his throat. “You were at Chancery Lane Underground Station last night?”

“Yeah.” I handed their coffees over. With nowhere to sit, I loitered around the kitchen bar, trying not to fidget, but the more I fought to stay still, the more I wriggled. I really had no reason to worry. So why is it getting hot in here?

“You saw the fae known as Sovereign?”

How much to tell them? How much did they already know? “I helped a guy onto a train, if that’s who you mean?”

“You didn’t recognize him?” Andrews asked, tasting his coffee and wincing.

“Sure. He kinda stands out—”

“Did he touch you?” He placed his coffee down and pushed it forward, like poking roadkill.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a simple question,” he said easily, but the answer wasn’t simple. If the detectives knew Reign had touched me, skin-to-skin, they’d assume I was tainted by the fae. Marked. And my words wouldn’t be trusted.

“I helped him up, so yeah, I guess.”

He scratched at his chin and settled his astute gaze on me once more. “Miss O’Connor, you do know not to touch the fae?”

He wasn’t much older than me, and yet I bristled, feeling as though I was being chastised. “Yes, I know that. I didn’t touch his hand, or anything, just his sleeve.” The lie came easier than I’d expected. I crossed my arms and attempted to smile sweetly while my palm itched. Andrews gave me a neutral, nonjudgmental, innocent-until-proven-guilty look. I bet he still looked as genial and unruffled when he slapped the cuffs on the bad guys. I pushed a lock of hair away from my face. “I just helped him up; it’s not a crime.”

“Uh-huh.” He glanced at his partner who continued to scratch his way through the paper. “Did you linger at Chancery Lane Station long?”

Wow, his questions cut like knives right to the heart of the matter. No small talk from him. “No, a few minutes. Just until the next train came in.”

“You didn’t explore the station?”

There’s not much to explore, I thought. Where on earth was he going with this? “No. We got on the next train, traded a few comments, and I got off. Why would I explore the station?”

“Were you aware there are some disused tunnels adjoining Chancery?” Andrews asked, ignoring the sideways glance from his partner.

“No, I’m not an engineer. What does this have to do with anything?”

“Where exactly did you get off?” Andrews pressed, not in the least perturbed.

“Huh?”